The engine roars, the metals gleam,
You race along the high-paved line,
To reach the summit of a dream
And claim the sky as yours and mine—
Or so you thought. The climb is steep,
The pace severe, the cold air thin,
And in the rush, you never keep
A tally of the quiet sin.
You build a tower, tall and bright,
A spire of stone against the blue,
With vaulted arches catching light,
Yet holding no one close to you.
For every friend was pushed aside,
And every hand was let go free,
To trade the warmth of love for pride
And secure a lonely victory.
At last the highway finds its end,
The final peak is brought in view;
No waiting crowd, no quiet friend,
No open arms to welcome you.
The crown is earned, the space is vast,
The wind blows sharp across the seat—
A solitary soul at last
Where no one ever cares to meet.
For status is an empty weight,
And power leaves a hollow sound,
If no warm voice can celebrate
The simple truths that you have found.
The prize was never just the height,
Nor standing on the peak alone,
But walking through the heavy night
With hearts that make the journey home.
surge into sheltered darkness
sky slithers through canopies
soles slip past red army ants
settled soils call back faintly
seeking upwards for reward
steep and sore our path to climb
success rests on moving clouds
Just to advise its still alive, and satan is its driver, with commoditys and convenience he plys.' Consider to ask
Jesus into your hearts, there is no need for physical travel.' Just open your ears
Mind; and heart..To end your own captivity' is how it it must start.' There is
No statement of dignatarys that even get a 'bit part' i suggest look around see all the money and time
wasted on different wars; that
Are touted to be for peace.? Which one of
Us sees that from our own to distant shores.' No the war is within us..And we alone cannot win.! We need the King of the universe's remedy or we will ever wallow in un-numbered human degrees of
Sin. Call out to ' your maker ' His Name runs through your dna..He sent Jesus on
That misson whose blood is still active
to the last person, up to the very final day.'
Come sit with me, rest a while ~
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Shadow mountain peak,
puzzle one can’t fathom,
it’s that upward sweep,
at sunrise, sunset,
quaint sawtooth features,
they induce dark zeal,
methinks a fable,
obscure tightly lodged,
in each skyward step,
novel within grasp,
cryptic stone phrase etch,
moss whirl stream rim,
lofty lambent odes sculpt,
in mound of twilight,
enshrouded wry blur,
vast hunch ascendant,
edgy climber gumption yet,
settles for lax gaze,
syblline boundless bard,
red cloud piercing tower,
a distant writer’s thirst
Shadow mountain peak,
one somehow can’t quite fathom,
it’s that upward sweep
at sunrise, sunset,
quaint jagged features protrude,
they induce dark mirth
methinks a fable,
inscrutable, tightly lodged,
in each skyward step
novel within grasp,
phrases etched in mystic stone,
rimmed by moss whirl stream
lofty, lambent odes,
I sculpt in mound of twilight,
enshrouded wry blur
vast hunch ascendant,
edgy climber gumption yet,
settles for lax gaze
syblline boundless bard,
that red cloud piercing tower,
a remote verse whim
I saw a caterpillar sitting there
and soon we both began to stare
into each other's thoughtful eyes
as we sized each other up for size.
Our silence was quite unbroken.
Our words were telepathically spoken.
As he sat on his mushroom stool,
it was clear to me he was no fool.
Indeed, he was clever as a fox,
but had no feet, no shoes, no socks.
The socks he didn't wear had stripes,
like those a wicked witch swipes.
Me and that inchworm with mind, unmuzzled,
scratched our heads and chins and puzzled.
Under the illuminating sun,
what's won was lost, what's lost was won,
as we deconstructed history,
and unraveled every mystery.
Our work then, being handily done,
I neatly lied and said I had to run.
I bid adieu to my squirmy friend,
as my story reached a happy end.
Politicians are paid as a last resort
to attend the summit accomplishing nought
but flap their lips expose their gums
feed their face and fill their tums
all the hot air they expend
I don't exaggerate
discussing climate change in the end
will only exacerbate
the ongoing problem long-since forming
a future foreboding of global warming
for every page and pamphlet printed
put in the post or stuck on walls
about ecology and saving the woods
it seems to me yet another tree in the forest falls
and I believe for every drop of acid rain
a flower dies
somewhere under the darkest skies
a new-born baby cries
With apologies to; Ervin Drake, Irvin Graham, Jimmy Shirl & Al Stillman
How far gone is my soul and mind,
That coming back seems impossible?
My hands ache to be steered by your prompt,
Yet hours of blankness blunt my will.
But still I can etch out classics—
My pen lies close, surreptitiously listening,
To gather in ink the wisdom you proffer,
For those fleeting moments of madness.
The top ten will never be my goal,
But that one crown that ends the race;
For this is no sprint that halts at a hundred—
A trophy beside my poem is all I crave.
Yet the nearest mile I first must conquer,
Before the next, and miles beyond.
Though fingers ache as if racing from fear,
No shadow of doubt shall make me yield.
Oh mine! Oh mine! I see it now—
A wonder folded deep in words.
I’ve penned a masterpiece for the summit;
No judge can deny its rightful place.
If none are near to ring my bell,
I’ll strike it loud with my own voice;
For I am no gentleman in this contest—
But a rival running the race to win.
Through the clouds
Another step, another step...
To summit together
As a group of friends.
Legs may tremble,
Heads will hang
But through the clouds
We shall ascend.
Can't turn back,
Don't look down
Raise your gaze
To meet the crown.
Another step, another step
Till we rest between summit and sky,
For us, for friends,
We walk as one with steady stride.
H-igh
A-s
Z-enith,
E-ach
L-istener's
C-areer
O-ften
R-ises,
N-ever
E-vading
L-ife's
L-ogical
A-dvice
©bfa060725
Monocrostic (Birthday of Hazel A. Cornella)
M-ake
I-t
T-hrough
C-raggy
H-ills
©bfa052525
Monocrostic (Birthday of Mitch A. Meraña)
"The summit cannot be seen",
what possibly can this mean?
There's always a certain goal;
vivid visions all should see
mere high bows to certainty.
Climbing for a brighter day,
will we likely lose our way?
This summit seems but a dream;
insights hit a sudden stop
finally finding the top.
Together hearts beat as one,
getting closer to the sun.
Truth in the heart, our best guide;
freed from fears of "I" and "mine",
ego takes a steep decline.
Blinded by sheer willfulness,
longings towards consciousness.
We will cling to what is dear;
our soaring spirit shall speak,
when we stagger up this peak.
Emerging through clouds on high,
new vistas to mount nearby.
Victory's a fleeting flame;
inner thoughts fade in thin air,
as one arrives, nothing's there.
25 lines rhyme 130 words
catalectic iambic tetrameter
Zen koan, Moshan monk phrase
"The summit cannot be seen"
from the Hidden Lamp book
Stands at the summit
Statuesque, pays me no heed
He is above me
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